


A certain degree of neurosis

by whimsicule



Category: Football RPF
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M, Pep is a therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicule/pseuds/whimsicule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pep is a therapist. Xavi has OCD, Cesc is schizophrenic, Andrés is antisocial and Leo has Asperger Syndrome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A certain degree of neurosis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on footballkink2. And for my own amusement. Although it did turn out not funny at all. Title is taken from a Sigmund Freud quote.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Unfortunately.

# A certain degree of neurosis

***

 

“Your eight o’clock appointment is already waiting.”

Pep tiredly raises his eyebrows at his secretary as he closes the door to his practice behind him. The clock in the waiting room is signalling half past seven. He hasn’t even had his first cup of coffee.

“What did I say about not opening early?” he says as he hangs up his trenchcoat and loosens his tie.

His secretary looks sheepishly at him. “I know. I told him to wait, but you know how he gets. And he seemed upset.”

Brilliant, Pep thinks. “Fine. Get me a cup of coffee, will you? When’s the last patient today?”

“Six thirty. Milk and sugar?”

Pep wants to say that he’s taken his coffee black for the last twenty years of his life and that his habits haven’t changed in the past minute. Instead, he takes a deep breath, tells himself that it would be more stressful to do all the scheduling himself, and walks towards his office. “No, thanks. Just black,” he says eventually and steps through the door.

He trains his eyes on his first patient of the day instantly. He’s got his back turned on Pep and is rummaging around his bookshelf. His books aren’t in alphabetical order and they are not arranged by size. This has happened before and it will happen again. Pep briefly wonders if it’s to late to become a dentist.

“Good morning, Xavi.”

His patient spins around, looks at him, then back at the books and smiles apologetically. “Good morning,” he replies. “Sorry, I just – I got carried away.”

“Don’t worry. That’s what you’re here for. Take a seat, please.”

Pep places his briefcase on the table and reaches for a notepad and a pen, not taking his eyes off Xavi, who meticulously smoothens out the creases on his couch and symmetrically arranges the cushions before sitting down, kneading his fingers in his lap. His gaze keeps flickering towards the bookshelf, where the books are still not in order; he’s biting his lip.

“So,” Pep says and takes a seat in his armchair opposite Xavi. “How are we today?”

 

***

 

Xavi probably isn’t one of Pep’s worst cases. OCD is an exhausting and peculiar thing and can make life difficult for the sufferer and his or her surroundings, but Pep’s been working with Xavi for a few years now and he doesn’t even want to think about the state Xavi was in when they’d started the therapy. Xavi is a functioning human being with an overly alert mind that notices any sort of discontinuation in any pattern. He needs to clean and to organize, and sometimes he’s got himself under control and sometimes he doesn’t, but they’re working on that.  
Today, Pep can tell that something has unsettled Xavi, but he doesn’t make the mistake to ask directly. If Xavi is ready to tell him, he will – it’s a silent agreement. Instead, Pep revisits some techniques to make Xavi relax his mind and when he leaves Pep is already on his third cup of coffee.

 

***

 

Pep gets a lot of calls at night. It used to be a problem, but now that he’s divorced there is nobody beside him that gets woken up, and as a therapist, he feels responsible for his patients, no matter what ungodly hour they ring him.  
That night, Cesc calls him, sounding teary and confused and when Pep finally finds him after hours of driving around the city, he’s only wearing one shoe and no jacket. “I’m sorry,” Cesc tells him and Pep can see the long scratch marks on his arms. “It wasn’t me, I swear. _He_ told me to go for a walk and _he_ told me where to go.” Pep tells him that it’s alright, that he probably just forgot to takes his pills that evening and that there is nobody in his head but him.

 

***

 

“Dani? Dani, listen to me.”

Sometimes Pep wonders if it’s all worth it. If he’s actually doing any good, if he’s helping his patients or making it worse by confronting them with their problems, their tics.  
Dani looks up from his phone and only puts it back into his pocket after he sees Pep’s pointed glance.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Pep sighs. “It’s okay. Can you tell me what we spoke about before you got distracted?”

He can tell that Dani is thinking, that he’s trying hard, but then something else – this time a simple newspaper on the small side table – catches his attention and his mind detaches itself again and Pep knows it’s one of these days, one of these sessions that will take them back a few steps.

 

***

 

Not every patient of his has a serious mental illness. Some just really need to talk to a person that isn’t related or a friend, somebody neutral with a different perspective. That’s the easier part of his job, the better part, because Pep knows he can already help them just by listening and not judging. One of those patients is Gerard, who was born into a family of over-achievers and economic tycoons and whose sole ambition in life is to be a kindergarten teacher. When Gerard talks about his parents calling him a disgrace, Pep reassures him and tells him he’s his own person. Pep watches his eyes go wet after a fight with his father and he watches them light up when he talks about his internship at a local nursery. Gerard is going to be fine eventually; for now he just needs somebody to take the first steps with him.

 

***

 

Some days are so bad that Pep even stops to believe in Freud. Sometimes he can’t get through to his patients, none of them all day long. It exhausts his mind and his heart and his spirit. He comes home to an empty house at night, wonders if he should get a dog, maybe a cat, but then decides that he’s dealing with so much emotional damage that he might screw up an innocent animal too. He couldn’t keep his marriage going, he certainly can’t take care of a pet. So he has a glass of wine to unwind, reads a book, reads over his notes and decides to keep going.

 

***

 

“How was your week, Andrés?”

The young man in front of him is pale and skinny. His clothes are dark, colourless, not attracting any attention whatsoever. Pep notices a slight tremor going through his body.

“It was,” and his voice is as faint as his appearance, “alright, I guess. Not as good as I was hoping, but an improvement, overall.”

Pep nods. Andrés is a writer. A best-selling one, even. Somewhere along the way, he’d become so caught up in worlds he’d created that he’d become afraid of the real one. He can’t do promotional tours, or interviews – most of the time he can’t even leave his house.

“That’s nice to hear. Did you manage to go for a walk every morning, like we said you’d try?”

Andrés kneads his hands, lifts his shoulders, shrinks. “Every day but one. It – it was raining.”

“Why didn’t you just take an umbrella?”

“Because –” Andrés hesitates. “Because it was wet. I didn’t want to slip and break something.”

Pep leans forward, leans his elbows on his legs. “Andrés. It’s perfectly safe to walk in the rain. Promise me, the next time it rains, you’ll still walk around the block for at least a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Andrés says. “I’ll try.” He bites his lips and Pep feels overcome by a weird feeling.

“Is there something else you want to tell me, Andrés?” he asks quietly, not wanting to sound pressuring, but reassuring, comforting – encouraging.

“I –” Andrés says and clears his throat and if his eyes aren’t deceiving Pep; he’s blushing. “I think I met someone.”

Peps eyebrows shoot up. He’d expected a lot, but not this. He’s been seeing Andrés regularly for about two years now, and for the first year, Andrés had barely made it to their weekly sessions. He hadn’t even been able to get his own groceries and even now, to go for a walk every morning was nothing short of a nightmare for Andrés. Pep thinks Andrés is a lovely person, he just doesn’t know how he would’ve met someone, as reclusive as he is.

“You have?” and Pep is quite proud that he manages to sound unsurprised.

Andrés nods again. “Yes. I mean – it’s nothing really, but – we went out for coffee.”

Pep can’t help but smile. “That sounds good, Andrés. That’s a big step. You should be proud.”

 

***

 

He meets his friend and colleague Tito for dinner that night. Pep wonders if shrinks can only be friends with fellow shrinks, because they’re equally screwed up as their patients, always analysing every word people say, every gesture. Tito works at the local hospital and sees far worse cases than Pep and unfortunately, Pep has had to refer Cesc back to him, because he’s getting worse again; hearing voices, seeing faces, and Pep can’t let him harm himself or any other person. They discuss new methods like electro-magnetic therapy and the latest paper on psychopathic behaviour or other work-related topics and Pep is glad; because he doesn’t have anything else to talk about.

 

***

 

Leo is a special case. Pep does make sure not to get emotionally attached to any of his patients, tries not to care more for them than on a clearly professional level. But Leo – Leo is just different. He’s been his patient for over a decade know and Pep knows him and his parents and his family.

Leo has Asperger Syndrome, which is an autism spectrum disorder. There is no cure. No pill to swallow and no therapy that can successfully eliminate this mental disease – although Pep wouldn’t call it a disease, and maybe that’s where he can see that, in Leo’s case, he’s gotten a bit too involved.  
Pep had gotten to know Leo as an eight-year-old. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t make eye contact and get frightened to death if confronted with anything unfamiliar. He’d covered the walls of his parents’ house with the prime numbers, in perfect order, living in a world of numbers and shapes. It had taken Pep a long time and tiresome collaboration with other therapists to crack him. Slowly, the communication had begun, first through numbers and formulas, then words and eventually first sentences.

The Leo sitting in front of him now is very different from the child he’d met all those years ago. He still doesn’t meet his eyes and he doesn’t speak unless spoken to – and maybe, Pep thinks, he has in fact not changed at all and it’s just him who’s gotten used to Leo. And Pep can tell that Leo is doing well, he seems calm.  
Pep asks Leo about University and about the special physics classes he’s taken and at first, Leo’s answers are barely more than a word, until Pep mentions a certain topic and then he starts on a seemingly random monologue about equations and elements and particles that Pep can barely follow, but that’s nothing unusual.

“He seems to be doing great,” Pep tells Leo’s mother when the session is over and Leo has joined his father in the car. “I think University is a good challenge for him.”

“Really?” She seems unsure. “I don’t know. He spends so much time there, working with the professors and in the library. I don’t want him to go back to only saying things with formulas.”

Pep smiles. “It’s normal to worry. That’s what every mother has to go through when her child starts to be more independent. And he hasn’t stopped talking. Or is there anything else that’s unsettling to you?”

“He just –” she begins and sighs. “We let him make his own way, but we always arrange for a set time when he should be back. And lately – he’s hours late. And he’s writing on his walls again. Do you think he’s slipping away?”

There’s fear in her voice, in her eyes and they’ve been there before. Pep knows how hard it is; to see a person, to experience his or her true character and then watch them disappear into their own mind, again and again. They’ve had many setbacks with Leo, where he’d talk one week and not even react to anything the week later. But Pep doesn’t feel like that’s going to happen at the moment.

“No, I don’t think so,” he assures Leo’s mother. “He’s adjusting and I’m sure it’s very exciting for him to do things that mentally challenge him and to meet people that understand his equations. But if calms you, we can schedule another session for next week and I’ll specifically talk to him about those things.”

She seems relieved, agrees and joins her husband and son in their car, leaving Pep to deal with his next neurotic patient.

 

***

 

“Xavi. Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Pep sighs. “Xavi, you’ve just spent forty-five minutes arranging and re-arranging a stack of magazines. First alphabetically, then by size, then by colour. Why don’t we both agree that there is something wrong and you tell me about it?”

Xavi’s hands twitch and Pep knows that he’s about to snap, about to lapse back into old habits and he’s wondering what triggered it, because there is always a reason, always a pattern. Because Xavi is a control-freak, and Pep doesn’t mean that in a bad way. But Xavi needs to control everything, organize everything and keep a hold of all that happens around him. But Xavi is no puppeteer and the world consists of more than just marionettes and life just doesn’t work that way.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Xavi says eventually.

“Just try.”

He sighs. “There’s – this person. And it’s nothing, really, but I can’t stop thinking about him and it just throws me off, I guess. It makes me nervous.”

Ah, Pep thinks, this explains a lot. Feelings are something Xavi’s not very good at. “And why is that?” he asks, because he needs Xavi to analyse his own habits in order to break with them.

Xavi – again – sighs heavily. “Because that’s something I can’t control.”

Pep nods. “And there’s nothing worrisome about that. I know it’s difficult for you, but try and relax.”

When Xavi leaves, Pep can’t help but wonder that it’s quite the coincidence that two of his patients are apparently making improvements regarding their social lives and – no. Surely that’s –

 

***

 

“It might be just a coincidence,” Tito tells him over coffee the next Saturday. “Have they even met?”

Pep shrugs. “Probably. They’ve been my patients for years and I’m sure they’ve had appointments on the same day.”

“Would it be bad if they starting going out?”

“I can’t say,” Pep confesses. “It could swing one way or the other. They’re both great people; only with a few problems. Nothing that can’t be dealt with. I’m just worried that it might be counter-productive.”

“Well,” Tito says, “I guess there’s nothing to do but wait.”

Pep isn’t sure how he feels about that.

 

***

 

Pep goes to see Cesc at the hospital, where he is under constant surveillance. He seems cheerful, in a good mood, but that can change within a second, Pep has witnessed it many times. They just talk about Cesc’s day and he’s happy to share that his sister had visited him earlier that day, that they’d watched a movie and that she is going to graduate from College soon. It takes about one hour before Pep notices the shift in Cesc’s posture, the flicker in his eyes and Cesc starts to talk in riddles, in incomprehensible sentences and Pep knows that Cesc has disappeared and that it’s no use to talk to him now. Nurses come in, feed him some medicine and he’s soon too numb to say anything at all.

 

***

 

Leo’s mother calls him one day before his scheduled appointment with him. At first she sounds so panicked that Pep seriously fears that something has happened to Leo. But then she says, “He’s seeing some boy from University,” and Pep thinks, not again. She says that his father had gone to pick him up after class, because they’d gotten worried, and he’d found him in the library with another guy and – well. Apparently he’s a nice guy, but Pep understands why she’s freaking out like she is, because – like always – Leo doesn’t talk about it. Pep promises to address the ‘issue’ when Leo comes to see him.

 

***

 

The guy that enters the practice holding Leo’s hand is just a bit taller than him, similarly slim, but he walks with confidence and his gaze is firm and assured. He’s got spiked hair and dark eyes, wears a leather jacket and bright red sneakers. He doesn’t look like someone who studies physics. But Pep knows better than to judge anyone by appearance. He settles down in one of the armchairs in the reception room when Leo joins him in his office and Pep notices the look Leo throws over his shoulder when he shuts the door behind him. They don’t talk.

Once they’ve sat down, Pep observes, watches and it strikes him once again that Leo’s grown up. That he might be handling life and what it’s thrown at him far better than many might credit him. And maybe Leo had it figured out all along and is now waiting for his parents and everyone else to catch up with him.

“I always dream about numbers,” Leo says suddenly and his voice is as soft as it always is. “They don’t always make sense at first. So that’s why, sometimes, I need to stay asleep. Figure them out. Arrange and add and multiply. But now I dream about David too. And he wakes me up when I have to.”

Pep knows that that’s all Leo’s going to say. But it’s all he needs to hear.

When they leave his office again and Leo excuses himself to go to the restroom, Pep finds himself face to face with David, who shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You don’t look like a shrink,” he says.

“And you don’t look like a scientist,” Pep retorts with a smile.

David shrugs and the studs in his ears glisten. He gives him a calculated look. “I know it’s hard for you to understand,” he suddenly says and Pep arches his brows. “But I get him, you know? Leo doesn’t need therapy. He’s right the way he is.”

Before Pep can reply – not that he has any clue what to say to that – Leo re-enters the room and there’s a silent form of communication passing between him and David before they say their goodbyes and it makes Pep think.

 

***

 

When Pep goes home that night, he pours himself a glass of Shiraz and sits down on his balcony. Winter is leaving and spring is providing a first few pleasant nights with clear skies and a fresh breeze. And Pep can’t help but think about what David had said so full of conviction and maybe he’s right. He thinks about Xavi and his habits and Andrés and his fear; Dani and his short attention span and Gerard’s family problems; about the problems Cesc has with his own mind; Leo.  
Maybe everything they class as mentally ill is just another part of one big spectrum. They all suffer from a certain degree of neurosis, in one way or the other, some more than the next. Perhaps there is no cure and perhaps they don’t even need one.

Perhaps they just need this one person who understands.


End file.
